HitsuHina Week 2013
by a blue fruit cup
Summary: Featuring our favorite couple in seven drabbles. Happy HitsuHina Week, 2013!
1. Flower Crowns

**_AN: It's HitsuHina week over on Tumblr and to commemorate it I decided to type up a few short drabbles! There's seven in total; one for each day. The themes aren't terribly original and I can't say my writing is that good but I hope you still manage to enjoy them! :D_**

_Theme: Spring_  
_ Genre Hurt/Comfort/Supernatural_  
_ Word count: 844_  
_ Universe: AU (Seppuku) _  
_ Other: Please read the story 'Seppuku' for more information regarding this universe. _

* * *

The demons are invading their realm but for a moment the two pretend they are young and their innocence has not yet been tarnished.

Toshiro sits cross-legged on the grass, watching the girl near him delicately work her magic on a pile of flowers.

"Oi, are you making those again?" The boy asks. He receives a laugh in response. It's only half-true, but in this losing war he is grateful for any response.

She smiles. "You should be happy, Toshiro. Kira isn't here to get one today. Neither is Matsumoto. Or Renji. Or Rukia. Or…" Hinamori lists off a number of names. Half of them are dead or injured, but the small detail is ignored.

The girl's fingers are an intricate mess of plants – buds, petals, stems, and leaves – but they work skillfully, quickly, and with the artistic talent of no ordinary reaper. She knows exactly what she is doing, years of experience devoted to the spring-time hobby of weaving flowers into crowns. A small pile of foliage sits at her side, ready to supply her with fresh materials when she finishes her current stack, but from the plants left on her lap she has much to go through before the second pile can be reached.

Letting the subject slip away, Toshiro settles his eyes on her. The boy sighs, wistful. "This place is nice. Calm."

"It is, isn't it?" Hinamori replies, never looking up or taking her eyes off her work, "It brings back memories from our childhood. Good ones, I mean." Her lips turn into a smile – another half one, but more real than before.

Toshiro feels his heart beat twice as fast. He focuses his eyes on the flowers, the number of pale daisies and gold daffodils, of red tulips and white dandelions, and of vibrant lilacs and the weed morning glory, all crowding together and swarming his friends lap. A thought drifts into his mind, one compelling him to speak up.

"Momo." He whispers her name softly.

The girl pauses. Hinamori's eyes flicker up to meet his before darting back down. "Yes?"

"I'm glad I still get to come here with you," the boy says, quiet but sincere in his words. "Even with the war, and the demons… and with all this fighting between them and the chaos that's resulted… I'm glad we're still here. Together."

A light dust of pink covers the girl's cheeks. If Toshiro had been paying attention, he might have noticed the way it closely resembles his own present blush.

The reaper shivers as he looks down and sees a hand clasping his own. His turquoise eyes drift up and widen at the pair of brown gazing back at him. "Hinamori?"

"I'm glad too." The girl smiles, sadly. Her voice is on the verge of cracking. "I know we've suffered heavy losses... and many of our comrades have died but- but I hope we live long enough to come back here every spring. Even if it's only to make these crowns."

His hand receives a squeeze. As Hinamori pulls her back, Toshiro bites his lip and takes it again. He holds it up, ignores the stare she's giving him, and slowly unfolds her pinky.

"Don't laugh," he warns.

She gawks. "What are you doing?"

"Making a promise to you." The boy hooks her pinky with his own, gentle in his actions. "A promise to live until next spring. To survive, for better or for worse. I promise to come back here with you and make," his face scrunches, "flower crowns."

"Toshiro…" Hinamori's eyes brighten. Any false sense of happiness leaves, replaced by the real thing.

She yelps as the boy tugs on her pinky, huffing and giving her a long-overdue scowl. "I set aside my dignity to make that promise! Don't leave me with nothing!"

"Alright, alright!" The girls laugh is light and infectious, "I promise not to die either, Toshiro. I promise to survive until the end of this war. I promise to return in the spring each year and make flower crowds _with _you – for better or for worse."

"You better keep your promise." Toshiro releases her pinky and crosses his arm.

Hinamori nods. "I will if you will."

It's his turn to nod. With that Toshiro looks away, grunting softly and falling silent. But Hinamori knows him. She knows of the frown scratched across his lips, of the way the edges twitch to indicate a smile he's desperately trying to hide. She knows the twinkle of his eyes and the furrow of his brows, forming one fragile façade to hide his interest. He tries to hide his joy, hide his feelings, and lock away any visible emotion beneath an icy surface, but she knows better.

Smiling, the girl turns back to her flower crown, eager to finish the row of daisies and start on the daffodils. As long as they have one another, this cruel world is worth fighting for.


	2. Seashell

_Theme: Summer_  
_ Genre: Friendship_  
_ Word count: 918_  
_ Universe: AU (High School) _  
_ Other: n/a _

* * *

It's a seashell.

Dull, round, yellow, with small opaque streaks across the back and bearing the most atrocious shape he's ever seen in his life. He wants to throw it back into the sea, but the girl holding it out is smiling innocently. _Too_ innocently, to the point he can't help lowering his guard.

Toshiro sighs in defeat. "It's a seashell, Hinamori. What's so special about it?" The high-school student asks, tucking his hands into the pockets of his swimming trunks.

His companion mimics one of his scowls in mock offense, "What's so special, Shiro? It's not any ordinary shell! It's a _complete _shell!"

"I told you not to call me that, first off," Toshiro can't help but groan and run a hand though his white hair, "Second, what's so special about a shell? Thousands of shells wash up on this beach. You've never been interested in one the _millions_," he waves for emphasis, "of times we've come here before."

"Shiro," Hinamori pouts and puts a hand on her hip, thrusting the seashell out in her palm, "I call you that when you irritate me, _first off_," the girl does a perfection imitation of her classmate, earning a lowly glare from the latter. "_Second_, I already told you! It's a complete shell! A lot of the seashells on this beach are cracked. Some of them are missing pieces, and others are way too tiny when I find them, but not this one. It's hard to find a shell without imperfections, that's why it's so important to me."

"I don't understand why that makes it special. It's not even pretty." The boy murmers in reply. He tilts his head, reaching to brush a strand of hair from his eyes before gazing at her hand. _It's just a seashell, isn't it? _

She huffs. "Try listening to it, Shiro. It's big enough to hear the ocean," Hinamori takes one of his hands – an action that would normally turn the boy's cheeks scarlet, if she hadn't been so upset with him – and shoves the seashell forward, "There." With a flash of black hair, the teenager is gone. Toshiro watches her wander off to their classmates, greeting Renji and Kira with high-fives and laughter as they halt the class's volleyball game to let her join a team.

His turquoise eyes turn back to the shell. His brow furrows and he scoffs at it, looking the shell over and flicking a thumb against its surface. It's rough.

"Dumb shell… Thanks to you Hinamori's mad at me…" the boy grumbles.

Toshiro wanders off, walking near the shore and letting the waves lap his bare feet. The shell never leaves his hands – and Hinamori never leaves his mind, coincidentally.

_Maybe I was a little rude,_ the boy figures as he stares at the shell. _She had something exciting to show me and I blew her off. Way to go, Toshiro. Treating your crush so well._ He chides himself. It's been a long day, and his actions reflect his poor judgment and bad mood, no doubt originating from the long ride here with certain classmates. _But what about the shell?_ Toshiro fingers it. _What makes it so important? It looks so ordinary… _There's nothing special about the shell, and the boy can't figure it out. It gives him a headache, leaving him to grit his teeth and rake through his brain to find an answer.

The water tickles his skin as waves reach out and touch him before receding back into the plain of blue they came from. Toshiro pauses, recalling how the girl spoke of the shell and the ocean and about something that related to hearing…

"Did she say it was big enough to hear the ocean?" Toshiro thinks aloud. He frowns and turns the shell over, noting each of its flaws and odd shape. "It couldn't be."

The boy turns and moves a fair distance until his feet are on dry, hot sand and both his friends and the ocean rest in the corners of his sight. Toshiro bites his lip and raises the shell, holding his breath and shutting his eyes – not expecting anything to happen.

The sound of waves rocks against his ear. Toshiro's jaw falls and he loses grasp of the shell in his shock. He flinches and bends over, scrambling to pick it up before clutching it to his ear again and breathing slowly. Calm noises emerge, faint but audible. They are smooth, then rocky, falling back into place and being stretched out again as the sounds continue to emit from the shell. Gradually they form a soothing rhythm. The shell's noises cause the boy to relax and stand idly on the beach.

By the time Toshiro manages to pull himself together and halt in this new-found endeavor, minutes have ticked by. The boy holds the shell in his palm, staring at it and ignoring the blistering summer sun above him. A frown breaks out the longer he looks at it. After a moment, his eyes flicker up and off in the direction of his classmates – _more importantly_, in the direction of Hinamori. A ping of guilt resonates in his chest.

Tucking the shell safely in his pocket, Toshiro begins the long stride over. He has an apology to make and a shell to return.


	3. Leaves

_Theme: Autumn_  
_ Genre: Romance/Friendship_  
_ Word count: 2722_  
_ Universe: AU (High School)_  
_ Other: Guest-starring four lovely characters who may or may not make up my (other) favorite Bleach ships. _

* * *

She sighs.

It's the third day her cold has kept her from attending school. Normally, the high-school student wouldn't care, but lately the leaves have begun to change color. The normal greens that coat and infest the trees have faded to crimson reds, glowing yellows, and ecstatic oranges. It's a sight to see: the leaves being thrown off their branches thanks to the wind. They shower eager students who wait below. The joy on their faces is clearly visible.

Her home is close to the high-school she and her friends attend, with her bedroom perched on the second floor of the house. A large window overlooks the street, revealing a line of houses, yards, and trees to the sick teenager. She can spy many leaves on the ground, and the students who race to stomp on them.

Grabbing a tissue, Hinamori blows a load of snot into it, tucking the tissue into a pseudo-trash bag her mom has taken the liberty of placing near her bed. Her head falls back and she groans, "By the time I'm better most of the leaves in the neighborhood will be gone."

A knock on her door makes the girl jump. She yanks the covers up to her chin despite being fully clothed and croaks out, "Come in!"

To her surprise a head of orange hair greets her. The rest of the student's body follows, the tall man smiling warmly and waving in her direction, "Yo, Momo."

"Ichigo?" Hinamori repeats.

Ichigo opens his mouth to follow up with something before he's jabbed in the stomach by an elbow. This time, a girl clad in a thin skirt and blouse with cropped black hair steps into the room, scolding Ichigo on 'properly addressing her friend' before grinning at Hinamori, "Momo! Hey! Hi! Nice to see you!"

"Oi, Rukia, you just said-!" Ichigo shuts up as Rukia glares at him.

She grins again and turns back to Hinamori, "Ignore the idiot. We heard you were sick and decided to stop by! That's okay, right?"

Hinamori blinks. "Oh- oh, yeah. That's fine, Rukia. I'm happy to see you guys," She lowers her blanket and smiles at her friend. "But who do you mean by _'we?'_"

"We, of course, Hina!" the accented voice sends visible shivers down both Ichigo's and Rukia's spines, but Hinamori is unfazed. She watches a silver-haired senior poke his head through the door and wave. "Hope ya don' mind, the rest of class has been missin' ya lately-!" A hand shoves him aside, interrupting his speech of friendship.

Next thing she knows Hinamori is being crushed by a soft chest, the cries of the others audible in the background, "Momo! I can't believe you're _sick! _I'm going to make sure Orihime stops by with some soup tomorrow, school be damned! I'll rally the whole class to bring you magazines and movies, and-!"

"Mat-Matsumoto!" Hinamori gasps. Her face turns blue from her friend's eager hug.

A moment later Ichimaru and Rukia succeed in tearing the ginger off, Rukia giving a loud protest of, "You'll choke her to death if you continue!"

Matsumoto sighs and moves back. The over-eager senior flashes a smile at Hinamori and shrugs, "Sorry, but I missed you so much!"

Hinamori, despite her chest hurting and her stuffy nose, manages to chuckle. "It's- It's fine. I missed you too. All of you." The student looks around at Ichigo, Rukia, Matsumoto, and Ichimaru. A pang of worry stabs her side, lips threatening to bend into a frown.

"Ya alrigh', Hina? Ya don' look super happy to see us," Ichimaru comments calmly, "I know seein' Rook an' Ichi ain' the most excitin' but wha' 'bout me?" Despite the tone of his voice and the smirk on his lips, Hinamori – and the others in the room – know him well enough to tell he's genuinely concerned.

With a sigh, Hinamori looks away. "Sorry, Ichimaru... I just thought, you know… He was going to come."

"He?" Ichigo asks.

Rukia elbows him and hisses, "Hitsugaya, you idiot!"

"The hell-?! How was I supposed to know that?" The orange-haired boy snarls back.

"They're childhood friends!"

Ichigo throws his hand in the air, "Toshiro never told me his relationship with Momo!"

"They're not in a _relationship_, they're just good friends who have yet to reveal intimate feelings for one another!"

"Ru- Rukia… Please don't..." Hinamori mumbles, feeling awkward.

Ichimaru blinks, "I'll take these two away from here before they tear up yer bedroom, Hina."

The senior drags both of the squabbling teenagers out. Hinamori exhales sharply, relaxing as the atmosphere calms. Her eyes dart over to Matsumoto, watching the ginger sit on the bed near her and frown.

"Rukia was only joking, Hinamori, but if it bothered you I'll talk to her about it. I don't think she meant to upset you, she just has an... unfortunate way with words." Matsumoto says gently.

Hinamori shakes her head. "That's not it. Rukia can say whatever she wants."

"Is it about Toshiro?" Matsumoto catches on quickly, and Hinamori gives her a silent nod on confirmation. The ginger wastes no time speaking up, "Just because he didn't come with us doesn't mean he isn't going to stop by later. You know how he is, Hinamori; sometimes his parents drag him off, sometimes he's buried in a pile of homework, sometimes the student body needs him to attend a meeting at the last minute… You know how these things are, he's a busy guy," Matsumoto offers her friend with a kind smile. "_But_ even if he doesn't visit today, I'm sure he'll come here tomorrow. Or call – at the very least. He's too worried about you to drop off the face of planet earth."

"I- I know." Hinamori bites her lip and nods. "I just wanted him to be here. Right now." She picks up a tissue and blows her nose into it, "I haven't seen him since I got sick and missed school. He's sent me a few texts but it's not the same."

Matsumoto bites her lip. She brushes a strand of orange hair out of her face. "He could be here later. Maybe with Renji and Kira – they told me they were going to come after soccer practice, if they aren't held up by coach."

A moment later Ichimaru pokes his head back into the room. He waves at the two girls, "Ne, Ran? Ichi an' Rook are 'bout to kill each other. As much as I woul' love to watch, I don' want Rook's brother kickin' my behind for it."

Hands trembling, Matsumoto rises and looks back at Hinamori. She gives the sick girl a sheepish smile, "Is it okay if I leave?"

"Yeah. Make sure Ichigo and Rukia don't hurt each other." Hinamori nods, smiling back.

She watches her friends leave and collapses back into the pile of pillows on her bed. Forty-five minutes later, Hinamori has gone through a box of tissues, fourteen text messages (all updates from Matsumoto on their attempts to keep Rukia and Ichigo in line), and a tv show – Yu-Gi-Oh, old but entertaining – with her spirit barely lifted. She knows the disheartened feeling in her mind comes from the fact her best friend has yet to give any sign that he cares.

_He does care, doesn't he?_ Of course he does, the girl argues. _Matsumoto gave me a whole list of reasons why he might not come today. And- and just because he doesn't come today doesn't mean he no longer cares about me! He might be busy! _

The thoughts do little to ease her mind. Hinamori plays another episode of Yu-Gi-Oh, chuckling at the characters of Joey and Mai as they squabble over what the show calls 'star chips'. Despite the age of the show, she can't help relax watching it, the animation nostalgic and endearing.

An hour passes and, with her mom interrupting once to bring her more medicine, Hinamori's laptop has died. She leaves it charging on the side of her bed, hands clasped over her chest while the girl stares at the ceiling.

Matsumoto hasn't sent further text messages, a sign things are _probably_ going okay between Ichigo and Rukia.

Neither Renji nor Kira have yet to show up yet, along with her white-haired best friend. Hinamori bites her lip. The topic is bothering her more than it should. Dejectedly, the girl sniffles, blows her nose, pulls the covers up over her shoulders, and hides underneath the blanket. She shuts her eyes and her body stills, breathing calm and heavy as she slowly lulls herself to sleep…

…Only to hear the door creak open.

Hinamori assumes it's her mother coming up check on her. She ignores the door, the footsteps that follow it, but freezes when she feels someone next to her bed.

"Oi… came all this way only for you to be asleep? Wake up, will you!" the voice is gruff.

A moment later Hinamori feels a shower of something thin and dry fall over her. She yelps and bolts upright, inching backward into a pile of leaves that have toppled on her bed. The girl gapes and looks at them, following the different colored leaves to their sender, a young freshman with white hair and a smirk that would kill any normal human being.

"Shi- Shiro!" She exclaims, careful not to cuss.

The boy drastically groans, "What did I tell you about calling me that?"

"But- But we're not in public, and no one's around, and-!" The high school student trails off, bad excuse made. Hinamori looks down, up, then down again, her eyes locked on the leaves on her bed. She looks back up and peers at him. "You brought in leaves."

Toshiro rolls his eyes. "Did not."

"Did too. They're right here!" Hinamori exclaims. She picks one up and attempts to throw one at her friend, only to stare in horror as the leaf flutters to the floor.

To her dismay, Toshiro lets out a sound which vaguely resembles a cross between a snort and a chuckle. "That was sarcasm, Momo."

"I'm calling you Shiro for the whole day just because of that," Hinamori grumbles.

Her attention shifts back to the leaves. The girl fails to notice Toshiro standing at the end of her bed, arms stuffed in his pockets and eyes locked firmly unto her face. Her focus is dedicated solely to the leaves, picking them up and carefully organizing them into a pile.

After a long pause, Toshiro speaks, "Normally, Momo, people put them on the ground and crush them."

"I can't do that! Not on my bed! Or in my room – I'll get itchy pieces underneath my sheets, or little bits squished in my carpet…" Hinamori rambles in response.

A moment later she feels herself being lifted by two slim arms. Gasping, the girl looks over and finds Toshiro looking at her with a bemused expression, the boy muttering a curt, "What?"

"What- _What?_ I should be asking you that," Hinamori stammers. "You can't pick me up out of the blue!"

Toshiro drops her back on the bed in response. Hinamori yelps as her pile of leaves topples. The girl cringes and rushes to gather them up again, careful not to crush the crisp leaves in the process. After a moment a pile has formed and she relaxes.

"Toshiro?" Much to her surprise, Hinamori watches her best friend stiffen at the use of his full name. She pauses, "Thanks for visiting. I've missed you lately-!"

Pink spreads across the boy's face. He looks away. "I would be a lousy friend if I didn't come to see you."

"…but you didn't have to bring all these leaves," Hinamori finishes.

The student peers at Toshiro. Her eyes never leave him, and when he finally catches her gaze the boy crosses his arm and assembles a fake, playful attitude. "You didn't have to be sick; next time you can come outside with me and I won't have to go through allthe trouble of gathering these leaves for you."

Much to his surprise, Hinamori hesitates. The girl tries to think of a witty remark, fails, and throws her hands up in defeat. Avoiding the boys smirk, she turns her attention back toward the leaves. The girl throws her legs over the side of the bed, scooping the leaves into the edge of her shirt with one hand and adjusting them with the other. She stands in one fluid motion, staggering before she catches her balance and smiles.

"Want to go downstairs?" She asks.

Toshiro pauses.

"To crush the leaves," Hinamori clarifies, "The kitchen floor is hard enough and it'll be easy to sweep up afterward."

Hearing no rebuttal, the girl takes hold of her friends hand and half-drags, half-leads him down the stairs to the ground level of the house. After greeting her mother in the living room, Hinamori stops in the kitchen and turns to face her friend. A smile settles on her face. It breaks into a grin as she lets go of her shirt and lets the leaves fall to the ground.

Despite her sick nature, Hinamori's competitive streak is clearly visible. "Bet I can crush more than you."

"You're on." Toshiro declares.

Without second thought their feet lurch forward. The sound of stomping, laughter, and thumps emits from the kitchen as the students diligently fight over control over the floor and the right to crush leaves. It's easier for Toshiro, given his smaller form and experience as a soccer player, but Hinamori is vigorous and capable. The girl winds up dominating the floor and taking control over it, crushing leaf after leaf into oblivion with nothing less than a fiery spirit.

When there's none left Hinamori can't help but move to the side, grab a counter, and burst out in a string of hoarse giggles, "That- that was great!" she declares.

Toshiro almost smiles. _Almost. _The boy catches himself and slips back into his icy demeanor, grunting in response, "You only won because I let you."

"Sore loser?" Hinamori sticks out her tongue.

"You wish," Toshiro rolls his eyes. "In all honesty, Momo, I'm glad you had fun." His voice cracks at the last bit, cheeks slightly red. "I'm sorry I didn't visit sooner. My grandfather is in town and my parents keep insisting I spend time with him, even if he is a sexist bastard. It hasn't been fun."

She smiles warmly. "It's okay. I'm just glad I got to see you again, Shiro."

"Hitsugaya."

"Toshiro?"

"Fine." He groans. The student moves to grab a broom and sweep.

Hinamori scampers to get a dust pan and help him. She fights off a sneeze. "It means a lot, Toshiro. I mean, you showing up was one thing, but the leaves…" she retrieves a blue pan and walks over, holding it out to the boy, "I've been sick all week. Right when the leaves are changing color! I was so upset – I wanted to go play in them, build piles, roll and stomp them to smithereens- but I can't, not when I'm sick." The girl shakes her head, "You coming over made me really happy. I mean, seeing you was one thing but the leaves? I'm barred from outside! I really appreciate that you took the time to bring some here anyways." Her own cheeks dust light pink, too faint for her friend to notice.

Toshiro lets himself smile – once – and run a hand through his hair. "I'm glad."

"Glad?"

"It took me forever to gather them," the student scowls at the notion, head tilt and lips parted, "The wind kept blowing them out of my grip when I had enough. It was frustrating, but it was worth it," Toshiro looks back at her. "As long as it made you happy."


	4. Gifts

_Theme: Winter _  
_ Genre: Romance _  
_ Word count: 2,265 _  
_ Universe: AU (High School) _  
_ Other: I apologize; I believe Toshiro turned out a bit OOC in this one but I couldn't find a way to fix that. Nonetheless, I hope you still enjoy it. _

* * *

Her present is silly.

The girl shifts in her seat, waiting patiently for her friend's mother to stop gushing. Toshiro's mom is nice, friendly, and an excellent hostess but there are times when it's a bit too much – leaving the girl overwhelmed. Anxious would accurately describe her present feeling.

Hinamori keeps her eyes down, staring at her lap and the box on it. She's taken pride to neatly wrap up the Christmas present – _the material part of it, anyways_ – in shining, navy paper. Nothing looks out of place thanks to her careful fingers, the paper folding neatly at the edges and the tape neither obscuring nor visible unless one were to look closely. A blue-green ribbon wraps around all four sides, tying into a bow at the front – again, perfect to the naked eye.

She's fallen in love with how it looks. Everything is up to par with her own expectations. Not even the handwriting on the name-tag attached to the gift shows any signs of being crude or sloppy.

"Hinamori," the familiar voice stirs her back to focus. The girl looks up to spy the mother gone, and Toshiro standing in her place. "What are you doing here?"

She smiles. "I was in the neighborhood."

The girl hears him laugh. It's a nice sound.

"My house is on the other side of town than yours." Toshiro points out. He crosses his arms, shoulders slumped, as his turquoise eyes fall from her face to the wrapped package in her arms, "You came here to deliver that?" She nods. "For me?"

"No, it's for your dog." Hinamori says dryly. The girl stands, sways, and shuffles over to him. She thrusts the gift out. "Merry Christmas."

"It's not Christmas."

Hinamori huffs. "Three days away is close enough! My parents said we're leaving to visit my grandmother, so I won't be in town on Christmas. I'll have no way to give it to you then, okay? You have to open it now." Irritation receding, a small smile dawns and she waves the gift in his face, "It took me _forever _to wrap it up like that. You're going to love what's inside – probably_._" She doesn't feel like adding it's a two-part gift. Not yet. Her beating heart can hold off on that for now.

Toshiro hesitates before his hands take hold of the well-wrapped present. He gestures toward the couch, and in a moment both teens are sitting side-by-side as the boy turns his gift over. "The ribbon is the same color as my eyes."

"It was the only one left. My parents used up all the normal ribbon on my family's gifts. The store was entirely sold out except for that one," Hinamori lies. No point in telling Toshiro she bought it _because _it reminded her of him.

Somehow, she suspects he's deduced it already.

The boy flips the gift back upright and tugs at the ribbon. His fingers work it smoothly, pulling apart the thick bow and sliding off the rest. Then comes the wrapping paper. Toshiro takes his time. His brow furrows as he succeeds in pulling it off – revealing a small, black picture frame.

His eyes widen.

"This is…" the boy stares at it.

Hinamori smiles. "I know it's cheesy but trust me when I say my other gift ideas were worse. Besides, I thought it would fit us." Her heart thuds lightly in her chest, "A picture of you and me as kids. We were cute back then, especially in Halloween costumes."

"I still don't understand why you insisted on dressing up as the grim reaper that year," Toshiro's snarky voice masks genuine humor behind its words. The boy sets the frame to the side of him and shakes his head. "You were a weird kid."

"H- Hey! I thought I was a witch!"

"What kind of witch wears a skull mask and wields a scythe?" Toshiro points out.

In response, Hinamori pokes his side and glares. "It was better than yours. Yours didn't even make sense! Office manager, or CEO, or…"

"Soccer manager." The boy corrects her. He leans back into the couch, crossing his arms and closing his eyes.

"If you say so." Hinamori shakes her head. Whether or not he agrees, there is no denying they were _both _strange children.

Toshiro's voice reels her back to focus. "Hinamori?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for the gift." The boy smiles – briefly – but the sight makes her heart soar.

Before she can stop herself, Hinamori blurts out, "Th- That's only the first half of it!" Her own words shock her; the girl gasps and covers her face as a blush turns it pink. _I didn't mean to tell him yet! _She inwardly scolds.

Toshiro doesn't appear to notice. But he's a good actor, and there's no way to tell what the boy is thinking from the look of indifference on his face. Hinamori turns away, embarrassed. She tries to fight off the thumping of her heart and the butterflies flitting her stomach to no avail.

"Well," Toshiro breaks through the uneasy silence, his voice hinting at curious. "Where is it?"

She looks over and finds his eyes on her. "What?"

"The other half. You said you were going out of town. You won't be here on Christmas. You gave me the first half," he stops, gestures to the picture frame, and frowns, "so it would make sense for you to give me the second half now. Unless your plan was to wait until after Christmas?" Toshiro says.

Hinamori bites her lip. Her face is still flushed, her insides jelly, but despite her anxious feelings a small knot is forming in her stomach. She _wants_ to do this. The small bit of courage inside her cheers her on, wiping away her shyness and anxiety.

"Close your eyes." She directs him.

He pauses. "It's not wrapped?"

"I'm not giving it to you if your eyes are open," the girl replies. She glares at him half-heartedly until the boy complies, "Make sure to keep them shut. Or else!"

"If you say so," Toshiro remarks out loud, mimicking her earlier tone perfectly.

Hinamori looks at him. He's calm and collected. Toshiro's whole body is relaxed on the couch. One of his hands lingers on the picture frame she got him, a small detail that sends her heart spiraling.

_It can't be that hard to kiss a boy, can it? No- no, of course not! Get your head in the game, Hinamori! _The girl thinks. Matsumoto's magazines have given her plenty of insight into the art of lip-locking and its many different forms. _There is nothing to be afraid of._ Hinamori repeats the memorized instructions in her head; _step one, get up close to your partner. Step two, lean in. Step three, gently press your lips against theirs for the intended length of time._ It isn't a complicated procedure, only a basic kiss. _I know I can do this. _

The girl fidgets on the couch. She scoots a few inches closer to her crush and watches him raise a brow, but say nothing. Grateful that Toshiro is respecting her wishes and keeping his eyes shut, Hinamori smiles.

The actions come easier than she thought. Gradually, Hinamori moves. Her cheeks flush scarlet. Hesitantly, the girl cups Toshiro's face, enjoying the feeling of his cool skin under her warm fingers. He stiffens from the contact but before he can say something the girl closes the distance between them and her lips meld against his.

Hinamori's heart is beating so fast she worries she might pass out. Her head is dizzy from the contact but there's something electrifying about it. A shock spreads into a shiver, and the shiver splits, spreading down her body. They refuse to stop until she draws back, face redder than a tomato. To her surprise she finds that Toshiro is now looking at her – wide-eyed, watching her every move with his cheeks vividly pink.

"You- you kissed me." Toshiro sputters, something Hinamori would have never expected from the boy.

"I did." Hinamori confirms.

"Was this," her friend struggles to speak. "The second part of your present?"

She nods. "Yeah."

"Does this mean you-?"

"Probably," Hinamori doesn't give him a chance to finish.

The two fall into uneasy silence. The fact that Toshiro hasn't berated or protested her action yet is a good sign. As other thoughts cross her mind, Hinamori frowns, all good feelings gone. Her lips fall down into a morbid frown as the girl realizes she didn't give him a chance to respond before she kissed him. His body froze up when her hands touched his cheeks, but that isn't necessarily a good thing. If anything, his body language says otherwise. A pool of fear fills her stomach and heaviness weaves over her chest as she acknowledges he may not have wanted it.

"Toshiro," the girl's voice reflects her feelings, "Shiro, did you- did you like it?"

"Hitsugaya."

"What?"

Toshiro shifts in his seat and runs a hand through his hair, gritting his teeth. "I don't know what else to say, Hinamori. It took me by surprise-"

Hinamori flinches, "Oh."

For a moment her eyes flick off of him and to the front door. It's a short distance. She could run out if she wanted to, call Renji or Kira, and get a ride. They would let her cry on them, wouldn't they? Of course they would; they were practically older brothers to her.

"-but that doesn't mean I disliked it." Toshiro finishes.

It's his turn to look away as Hinamori's gaze shifts and her jaw drops. She spots the deep red on his cheeks, and relief washes over her, "So – you liked it?"

"I just said that," his voice feigns annoyance. The boy reaches down, one of his hands moving to take her own. "Not to say the execution was _good_, but it wasn't _bad_ for a bed-wetter."

"Hey!"

"You called me Shiro," Toshiro points out nonchalantly. "It's only fair."

The girl huffs. "I- I was nervous! You try kissing the person you like out of the blue and-"

"Okay." Toshiro releases her hand and wraps it around her waist. Hinamori gasps as he pulls her forward, until their foreheads are an inch away. Smiling, the boy plants a kiss on her lips. Toshiro releases her a moment later and moves back, folding his arms in one graceful motion. "There."

Hinamori is too red to reply.

Toshiro notices, adding an honest, "You told me to try."

"That- That's not what I meant-!" the girl stammers. She throws her hands up into the air.

"It's nice to know that you like me, Hinamori," Toshiro quickly changes the subject with ease, his voice cool and refreshing, "It makes asking you out a lot easier."

Her face returns back to the shade of beet it was before – albeit lighter. "You want to ask me out?"

"No, I want to ask your dog out." Toshiro's dry voice is a perfect replica of Hinamori's past sarcasm. The boy pauses and bites down on his lip. He looks flustered, but the tone of his voice is strong and firm, "Do you want to go on a date with me?"

Hinamori pauses at the question. The girl twiddles her thumbs together, resting her hands in her lap, "A date?"

"A date. You know, two or more people going out on something that's typically associated with romance?" Toshiro explains nonchalantly, but Hinamori can sense his smug attitude underneath the words, a smug attitude reserved for her to play and poke at.

She scowls, "I know what a date is. It's just… uh…"

"I thought Matsumoto taught you about the concept of dating. She's always talking about the dates Ichimaru takes her on," The boy throws his head back and sighs, "Hinamori, we kissed twice. I thought the next thing to do was go out on a date." He pauses and in that moment a different emotion darts across his face – something that strikes the girl as unusual and out of character for him: fear. "Unless you want to pretend this ne– never happened." The crack in his voice does not go unnoticed.

Hinamori shakes her head, "No._ No._ That's not what I meant." She wrings her wrists, "I would like to go on a date with you. An official date," she nods, "But I'm new to all of this. I barely got the kissing part down-"

"Which wasn't bad, to be honest." Toshiro comments. His words make her face turn pink.

"-but I'm still naïve to the rest of _'romance,'_" Hinamori frowns. "Magazines and Matsumoto don't match up to the real thing."

"We don't have to rush. Momo," The boy's hand slips and finds her own. He peers at her, "If you want, we can double-date or go on group dates with others. I bet Matsumoto and Ichimaru would be _ecstatic _to help us out." his words hold a hint of amusement to them, but Toshiro is genuinely serious.

Hinamori nods. "I would like that."

As the two fall into silence, they relax, and Hinamori can't help but think her gifts weren't silly after all.


	5. Mourning

_Theme: Fire_  
_ Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Angst_  
_ Word count: 1822_  
_ Universe: AU (Seppuku) _  
_ Other: Please read the story 'Seppuku' for more information regarding this universe._

* * *

She watches the flames dance around the pyre.

They look to be the same on the outside: made of a dozen or so brilliant colors, all warm with white, yellow, gold, orange, red, and crimson dabbing their insides. They alternate in shape and structure, the flames crawling over the wrapped bodies and burning away the black cloth to reveal bloodied faces of fallen comrades. Fire sears the flesh and leave it sizzling – _popping – _in the air. One by one, each flame serves its purpose, burning the bodies steadily. They are the same, leaving nothing but ash in their wake as they erase those of the past and replace it with a bleak future.

The process takes a manner of minutes. Afterward, the flames are left to extinguish themselves, burning at the clothes, the flesh, and _the bones themselves _until all but soot can be found in the pits. When one pyre is done burning, the members of the Second Division move on the next – carefully making their way through a long line of piles, ignoring the stench as they work to set each aflame.

It's necessary, but cruel.

Needed, but horrifying.

Hinamori acknowledges this. The bodies – only two days old – have already attracted flies due to the reapers' anatomy of breaking down after death. Rats can be spotted at the sides, munching on small, raw pieces before guards shoo them away.

With flies and rats come disease. _Plague_, the word whistles between her ears.

The notion of warding off plague is ironic, for the war they are fighting is a fruitless one. There are too many demons to count, too many casualties to record, and too many battles lost for it to be worth-while. The fact that the reapers are still struggling to live in an afterlife after their losses is laced with dark humor. _Why fight to live when their defeat with the demons is inevitable?_

The members of the Second Division set fire to the next pyre.

The smell of flesh burns her nostrils. She clenches her fist and forces herself to look, to _stare_ at the pile of bodies and the way they burn.

_Why, why, why,_ the question blazes through her mind and sets it alit with a wave of emotions. Her eyes begin to water. She knows why, doesn't she? Why she came to witness this.

She wants to be reminded of the cruelty of the war. She wants to be reminded of the third squad she's lost this month. She wants the horror and the guilt and the _fear _that comes with surviving to carve a memory into her back. She wants to be held down, thrashing and shrieking, as her mind takes in every small detail of the atrocities present in this world. She wants to be subject to them, over and over, until her skull cracks and insides ooze out.

She wants to mourn. She wants to grieve. She wants to scream and cry over their bodies, to feel their blood stain her clothing and dampen her sides. She wants to hold them in her arms and let her sobs be visible to the world, not one of a proud soldier – but of a fearful leader who has lost yet _another_ comrade.

Hinamori knows she can't.

Such a display of emotions is a luxury reserved for others, not her. She is a soldier, not a civilian, not a Captain – but a soldier. A _weak_ soldier who must pretend to be strong for the sake of _weaker _soldiers.

When her eyes water, she bites her lips. When her hands threaten to shake Hinamori clenches them until the knuckles turn white and her nails dig into her skin. When she yearns to scream at the world, she chokes back her humanity and turns away.

She's not surprised to find he's there – waiting, watching – by her side. The Captain, the one whose presence she can recognize a mile away, stands calmly. He raises a hand cautiously and Hinamori allows the boy to rest it on her shoulder.

It's a small gesture to the others, but she knows better. The Captain has been here this whole time, eyes focused on her with a frown full of worry. He's seen her react to the bodies and the fire that turns them to ash. He's read past her lips, her face, her _eyes, _and into her soul – marking down each of her thoughts and acknowledging them with a squeeze of his hand. Her shoulder burns from the contact; she winces.

"Toshiro?" There is no playful edge, no mock or tease to her tone. Her words are crude, serious, and few as she watches the flames before her. "Do you think they died in vain?"

Hinamori's fists clench. The hand on her shoulder draws back. The presence moves to her hand, enveloping it in a set of fingers which caress hers gently.

His hand is cold.

She needs that.

Warily, her eyes lift to meet his. The pair of turquoise irises convey too many emotions. She lets the thought of deciphering them slip, her mind far too drained to attempt such a feat.

"I think," when he speaks, his voice is cool. It soothes any burns in her heart. "I _believe_ their deaths meant something. I believe they died with a purpose."

"Not for this war."

Toshiro shakes his head. "Not for this war."

Hinamori looks away. Five pyres have been burned in total, fourteen left standing – one of which holds the remains of her deceased squad members. Hinamori's eyes water again and she blinks back the tears, her hand squeezing Toshiro's as words escape her, "What are we fighting for? What's the point? This isn't about driving the demons out, anymore. Toshiro - there's no way for us to do that now. We've lost too many men, had too many strategic points captured or destroyed… and demons are flooding into this realm with each passing moment whereas we have no way to efficiently train new reapers. What is the point?"

"Survival." The word rolls off his lips with ease.

She can't accept that for an answer.

"Survival? Why are we trying to survive? The demons will exterminate us, Toshiro!" the girl hisses, not malevolent but blunt. Her eyes water again. Squeezing his hand does nothing to stop the feeling.

But he squeezes back. His thumb runs across the back of her hand, desperately trying to reassure her, "We each have things to fight for, to survive for, Hinamori."

"Those things are going to die," Hinamori argues quietly. "Just like us. We are losing this war. We are already being slaughtered. These are the pyres for _today_, Toshiro. Not for the week. Not for the month. For _today_. Tomorrow there will be more. And the day after that – more: dozens and dozens of bodies to burn. Having a loved one will not change that."

The Captain near her freezes.

"You're wrong," Toshiro says. His chilled voice leaves and with that his hand, but it is replaced by two.

Hinamori's eyes widen as she feels the boy's hands cup her face, turning her down to face him. The few inches she has over him feels like nothing as her gold eyes stare into his mint green. The look scratched on his face is not solemn, nor cold, but sad. He is frowning, mouth slightly parted and eyes full of a concern usually locked under the surface.

"You're wrong," Toshiro repeats. A thumb slowly traces over her cheek, stopping near her chin. "Having someone to fight for, to survive for…" His cheeks dust pink as he continues, "Momo. I don't expect you to see it. Not now – not when you're holding yourself back, trying not to grieve. Nor do I expect you to rush and accept these words. But I want you to know something. It does matter. Having someone you care about put on the line changes _everything." _He stops, jaw shut.

Hinamori spies words that long to be said, words she can't speak of but are clearly visible to her eyes.

"It," Toshiro halts until he has caught her attention, "It gives us hope, Hinamori. It gives us hope that one day, the slaughters _will _be worth it. Not for the war. Not for winning. But to survive – to grow old, to live long enough to bury the people we care about in the _ground_ – not in fire. Maybe it is futile. Maybe we will be executed by the demons. But until that happens I will not give up. I will continue to fight for my survival, for the survival of friends, and for the _person_ I care the most about." His eyes flicker over her lips, "As long as I continue to fight, the memories of those lost and the lives sacrificed will _always _matter."

With that comes a cry from the side, one of the Captains subordinates calling out to him.

"Excuse me." Toshiro releases Hinamori and gives her one last, sullen look before he departs – returning to a world of façades, death, and inevitable defeat.

She watches him go. Part of her wants him to come back, to calm her nerves and speak until her mind is lost in mental oblivion. The other half lingers on what has been said, on the words that ring through her head and leave her with a mild headache. Perhaps he is right.

There is no doubting the losses of the war. Hinamori acknowledges – her eyes tracing the line of burning pyres and the guards that stand watch near them – the war is not innocent, it is not kind, and it is far from merciful. It has taken a toll, not only on bodies but also on the minds of those left.

Maybe, somewhere along the way, she forgot it was acceptable to feel sorrow. Maybe she forgot what they- no, _she _was fighting for, too busy trying to remain _strong _in the face of her peers.

She freezes and stares at the piles of flaming bodies. As her eyes watch the fire twist and dance, a new form of guilt invades her insides. Guilt, at not grieving properly. Guilt, at trying to forget her deceased squad members in attempt to maintain appearances. Guilt, at forgetting that a weak soldier cannot be strong until they face their weakness and accept it.

The girl breaks.

Hinamori sways and her balance topples, sending her to her knees. Her fists clench at her sides and her knuckles turn white. Her eyes water and this time she does not halt the burning hot tears that follow. The girl allows herself to sob and wail in front of her fellow soldiers, her tears never stopping as she cries over the loss of not only her squad – but of the fallen reapers as well.


	6. Nightmare

_Theme: Ice_  
_ Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Friendship_  
_ Word count: 1853_  
_ Universe: Canon(ish? Mildly canon, let's go with that)_  
_ Other: Am I the only one who thinks little Toshiro is tsundere?_

* * *

The girl bolts upright, cold, drenched in sweat, shaking and crying out. Her eyes well with tears.

This is the third night the dream has plagued her. It has invaded her memory, taken over her mind, and left her thrashing and sobbing when she wakes from sleep. There is no explanation for it. Such weather has never touched this portion of the afterlife, not in many years. Typically it is the rain and few bouts of thunder that leave her a whimpering, soiled mess.

But the dreams are not of rain.

Hinamori winces and touches her forehead. She puts a hand over her heart and feels the _thud, thud, thud_ coming from her ribcage. It's warm – desperate, aching heat she yearns and craves for – but it isn't enough.

Her nerves jump. Chills plays across her spine like that of an instruments strings, plucking her bones one by one until her hands are trembling and her breaths shallow.

She refuses to spend more time in the room. The girl keels and chokes back any sound as blood flows to her legs and forces the rest of her body to consciousness. She looks out across the dark, ignoring the shadows and focusing on the light that creeps through the window. It's her sole guide as Hinamori adjusts her sleeping attire – a set of robes, loose, thin, and white – and hobbles over to the exit. The girl doesn't hesitate to open it.

She climbs out, the moon washing over her petite form. The afterlife is chilly but it is nowhere close to the nightmares she faced mere minutes ago.

The girl doesn't plan to go far. The house has a porch at the front, one she gratefully walks to and climbs on. Her eyes shut and she focuses on the sounds around her. Part of her wills them to soothe her numb insides.

Several minutes later, a door creaks open. Hinamori freezes – _irony has never been so cruel – _and jumps when the person drops next to her, sitting cross-legged.

Her eyes catch sight of messy, white hair. It falls in bangs over her companions face. But she recognizes the eyes. The turquoise eyes are indifferent to everyone but her – masking concern behind the owner's grumpy demeanor.

"Shiro-!" she flinches as the boy flicks her forehead.

Toshiro glares. "You woke me up, _bedwetter_."

Hinamori freezes at the knot in her throat. She swallows, exhales, and looks at her friend – too unnerved to rebuke the nickname, "I- I thought I was quiet! I didn't realize- I didn't- I didn't wake her up, did I?"

"Idiot, her bed is at the other end of the house." The response is cold. Hinamori relaxes; their grandmother wasn't disturbed by her abrupt exit.

The air settles around them.

Hinamori welcomes the silence. She doesn't want to talk to him right now. She wants to be alone with the crickets and the moon and the clouds that freckle the sky in small puffs and snaking streaks. She wants to feel the breeze run across her skin and leave goose-bumps in its wake, quivering and shaking from the wind. She wants to find a way to calm down and control herself – _on her own, she has to do this on her own – _without him there.

When Toshiro opens his mouth to speak, the girl can't help but cringe at the words he says, "Why are you out here?"

"It doesn't matter." Hinamori replies quickly, not in the mood for discussion.

His words continue to remind her that she isn't by herself. "You should be asleep. Scary things are awake at night. Robbers and wild animals. Things you shouldn't see."

She has to pick her words carefully. The girl doesn't want him to use his keen tuition. She doesn't want him to pick up on the problem and ask questions. But she's weak. Her brain is clouded with panic and her response slips out with a crack to its tone, "You- You came out here to tell me that?"

"It's not like I came out here to make sure you were okay," Toshiro's gruff reply shows no indication that he cares, much less is interested in why she came out here – but that's not true, it's _never_ true. He is a brat but he's a smart brat, a brat who cares about her and can not only read her like a book but hide the very fact he's doing so. The downside is the way he shows his feelings, disguising many of them in phrases and words that leave a sour taste in her throat.

She hates and loves that about him.

"Bedwetter? Bedwetter Momo! Earth to bedwetter!" his berating voice fills her ears.

Hinamori snaps back to focus and cringes, "Don't- Don't call me that!"

"Then tell me why you came out here!" Toshiro demands.

"I can't!"

"Why not?" His turquoise eyes catch her own.

That's when she realizes it's hopeless. He's not leaving. He's not going to go away until she talks to him.

She should have seen it coming.

"Because you- you'll laugh at me!" Hinamori mumbles the response and turns away. She hesitates for a moment before her walls come crashing down and a ramble echoes from her lips, "…it's really dumb, Shiro- and- and I can handle it by myself. I don't want to listen to you tell me how stupid it is that I'm upset-!"

"Idiot!" She winces as the boy flicks her forehead to accompany his half-shout.

"Shi- Shiro?" Hinamori stutters.

He's frowning. It startles her to see how upset he looks, even if his voice is hoarse, "Just because I call you an idiot doesn't mean I think you're an idiot, okay? If you got a problem then I'll help you!"

She doesn't respond. A cricket chirps nearby.

Toshiro groans, "…I promise not to laugh at you, bedwetter. But I'm not going back inside until I know you're okay."

"I- I had a nightmare, alright? I had a nightmare and woke up and now I'm scared!" the girl blurts out. She hides her face in her hands, flushed pink from embarrassment.

"What of?" She hears him say.

"Of- Of ice, Shiro! Of stupid ice and stupid snow! It was a blizzard! A blizzard and- and it was _freezing!_ I was so cold!" Hinamori snaps. Her voice starts on its own accord and before she can stop herself the rest of the words pour out, real and frightened just as she is, "It felt so real, Shiro – that's what scares me the most! I watched myself freeze to death! And- And then I watched you, and grandma, and all my friends freeze in the snowstorm! I couldn't do anything! And- And you know what? This isn't even the first time, this is the third night I've watched you die in a blizzard! And all I can do is wait until I wake up for the nightmare to go away… It makes me _so_ sick! I want to sleep but I'm too scared to go back to my bed! I don't want the dream to come back!"

By the time her rant is over Toshiro appears to be lost in thought. The boy says nothing, grabbing her arm and hauling Hinamori up with him. Toshiro gives no part of himself away in the process – remaining silent as he opens a door and tugs the girl through it.

"What- What are you doing?" Hinamori repeats herself.

"Dragging you inside before you get sick, idiot," Toshiro chides her, "You've obviously tired and you don't have a blanket. I can't let you catch a cold out here."

Panic flares inside her. She can't go back. She refuses to go back to the room, Shiro's words disregarded. "But- But that doesn't mean you can take me inside! I don't want to go back to my room! Don't make me go back there!" Hinamori pleads.

To her surprise, her friend says nothing but a curt, "We aren't going back to your room."

"Shiro?" Hinamori blinks. Her breath is caught in her throat. A sole thought trails her mind, _what is he doing? _

"If you can't sleep in your bed then you can share mine. In the morning we can explain this to grandma. I'm sure she'll let you stay in one of the other rooms until your nightmares go away." His words register in her mind, vaguely – but her focus is set on him, his face, and the peculiar expression etched across it.

She's confused. "…But-!"

"What's with the look? I didn't laugh, did I? Geez, girls are so hard to understand…" Toshiro complains loudly.

He pulls her into the house, ignoring her squeak of discomfort when the door shuts loudly behind them. Their footsteps are light and barely noticeable as he leads her past the main living rooms, down the corridor and through a sliding double-door to his bedroom.

It's small, much like hers. But the scent is different – of one too many fruits and a pile of dirty clothes – and oddly comforting. She takes a moment to calm down as Toshiro lets go of her hand. Watching closely, Hinamori spies him picking up articles of clothing and shoving them into a corner. When he's finished, the boy moves to the closet – a small space covered by a thin, rough door – and retrieves an extra blanket. It's blue.

Draping it across his futon, Toshiro rubs his hands and turns, "There. Clean."

She hesitantly takes a step forward. Then two, then three. Her legs carry her over and she flops down on the futon, smiling at how comfortable it is to sit on.

"Your futon is nice," she points out.

"I know. Get under the covers." Toshiro grumbles. The boy inches back to her and dives under the blankets, surfacing at the end and resting his head on the pillow.

Hinamori does the same. She comes to a stop with her head near his, white hair tickling her forehead as her whole body begins to relax. The girl pauses, noting her feelings and the fact they are now at ease. Perhaps her friend is rough around the edges but he hasn't mocked her for what she said. This – in its own strange way – is his version of comforting her. And if anything – it's worked.

She's grateful for that, and whispers something quietly.

"What?" Toshiro frowns and stares at her. He inches closer, wrapping the blanket tighter around the two.

Hinamori relaxes and shuts her eyes as she repeats herself. "Thanks, Shiro."

"Don't mention it, bedwetter." Toshiro replies.

For the first time in three days, Hinamori falls into a deep, dreamless sleep – warm and secure next to her best friend.


	7. Bound by Fate

_Theme: Loops  
Genre: Tragedy  
Word count: 1464  
_

* * *

_(It should not have surprised him – finding her body like this)_

The Captain stopped on the edge of what had once been lush, rolling hills dotted with grass and smaller foliage. Over the past few hours it had been torn apart, ripped open, and left full of craters due to furious explosions and riveting blows. The fighting had been fierce – and the stalemate, fiercer. With the demons' bodies gone all that remained was a sea of corpses and the rich, red blood that pooled at his feet. The ground was covered in a thick layer of it.

_(He had dreams, many dreams; dreams of the past, the present, the future – all with her, all ending the same way) _

His turquoise eyes swept the field. Most of the bodies were unrecognizable, with faces being ripped off, limbs being mangled, and innards pulled out and strewn in the dirt. There was no denying the thick metallic smell in the air. Death was poignant. It was everywhere, and there was no time to bury the bodies it had claimed. Funeral pyres would have to do.

_(It took him years to learn the meaning behind them, to understand the nightmares)_

"Matsumoto." The Captain called his second-in-command forward.

Without further notice, she came to his side, orange hair flowing behind her in the breeze. But the woman did not joke. She did not laugh, or smile, or tease him about the stains on his clothes and his hair. She merely stood there, stagnant, waiting for a response, "Sir."

"Gather our remaining forces and retrieve the- the intact pieces of our comrades. We will deliver them to the Second for proper disposal." It was the last order he ever gave.

_(Acknowledging the inevitable should have prepared him for this, it should have granted him strength)_

It didn't surprise him that her remains would be found here. It was – _after all_ – the Fifth Squad's bodies lining the ground and encroaching the earth. The mission had been theirs, an assignment handed out earlier this month. Vaguely, the Captain could recall _her_ training for it and _her _proud cries at how far the remaining members of her division had progressed.

_She_ had become a true leader. Someone not wracked by betrayal, but born out of a blazing will to survive. She had rebuilt herself, rebuilt the Fifth, and while her powers were naught compared to that of a Captain her will inspired the same form of respect from her peers.

_(He had known this sick red string would come back one day to ensnare them in its trap again)_

He found her body lying face-down in the far eastern corner of the field. The two members of the Tenth who were with him said nothing as he approached the corpse, stopping and kneeling by its side.

There was no pulse. He didn't expect one to be there. The rational, logical side of his mind was repeating the same thing over and over; the same four-letter word that composed the rest of the field and its deceased inhabitants. _Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. _Despite this, he couldn't help but hold unto her wrist – wishing, deep down, she would roll over and return to him. The thought made his heart ache.

_(He thought he set up the necessary precautions)  
_  
His subordinates were gone, called to another position by the Tenth's second-in-command. Thankful as he was for the peace, it also unnerved the young Captain. Beads of sweat rolled off his forehead and down his cheeks. His breathing was heavy – _not calm, not cool, not him_ – and his thoughts raced and slowed as they struggled to process waves of feelings.

_(But he was wrong)_

The dreams that foreshadowed this moment danced around his mind, stepping and waltzing with the grace and subtle nature of a typhoon. The Captain clutched at his head, hands in hair, his teeth clenching and his eyes bulging as the irises stared out in one wide, petrified gaze.  
_  
(He was so, so wrong)_

She was dead.

Dead.

Dead.

_Dead. _The Captain didn't want to believe it, yet reality's assault on his heart continued to stir. It lay him under siege, leaving him helpless to his emotions.

He couldn't take it. He fell next to her body, nails raking through his hair as he began to scream her name over and over.

(_He was weak, weaker than anyone he had ever known – the dragons power bestowed on him was only temporary, a borrow, once stripped he was all but a small child again)_

The more he tried to understand, the more he wailed. She wouldn't – _couldn't _– react yet his sounds never faltered, never ceased in their desperate attempt to dig through the grave and reach her. His head ached from the strands of hair he had ripped out in his cries. The girl refused to respond.

(_The strings that bound him and her by fate pulled them together, apart, and together again – spinning them in this endless circle as he struggled not to cry) _

When they finally came, he couldn't stop them.

The tears rolled down his cheeks – one by one.

_(There was only one way for the child to regain control of himself when the Gods saw fit to re-enact the bloody tale)_

Several minutes passed. The Captain's skin was boiling under the heat of his tears, leaving damp streaks running down his face. His eyes were bloodshot, puffy, and he had bitten through his lip in the anguish of regaining control over his shaking body. It took longer than expected for his hands to move to his face and wipe away the stains – _and evidence _– reminiscent of his emotions.

_(His dreams held the answer, the solution to restarting this chain of events) _

Wordlessly, his crumpled body stood. The icy energy that radiated off of his body flared – turning the surrounding area into one thick, blood-red prison. It towered high; the ice walls flew up haphazardly and stacked in layers. When it was too thick to be penetrated, the Captain allowed the ice to spread across the remnants of the night sky and seal him – and his precious corpse – in a dome, where no light would pass through.

_(It was simple; too simple to be true, but the sleeping visions didn't lie) _

A teal glow emanated from his body. It froze the air and left his breath visible. Goosebumps spread across the young Captain's skin, raising the hair on the back of his neck up and sending chills down his spine.

If any of the bodies had survived, they would have caught hypothermia by now.

_(To force the Gods into play and renew their lives, he had to die)_

His blade lay in its sheathe. The hilt was tough to grip – his fingers had gone numb, blue – but the Captain managed. With deep, heaving breaths he forced it out and held it high in the air. His own blue energy began to merge with green as the blade radiated an abstract glow. Turquoise formed and the mint blue-green burned brightly in the icy trap he had set for himself.

Tears threatened to fall again. There was no one to watch the Captain as he let his sorrow and grief wash out in the form of crying. But the rest of his body refused to react; it grew stiff as a board and ignored the pounding on the ice outside.

He lifted the blade and held his breath.

_(It was the easiest decision he ever made)_

With the body of the one he vowed – _failed_ – to protect by his side, the Captain thrust his sword's blade through his chest. It cut the flesh with ease. The searing pain he felt was a relief, a minor distraction to his emotions. But he was still alive.

Refusing to accept the result, he repeated the action. Again, and again, until blood dripped off his torso and his body was too weak to stand.

Collapsed in a pile next to the girl, Toshiro let his sword drop and smiled. He noted the few, finer details of his childhood friend – her soft complexion, the roundness of her shut eyes, her soft-looking skin and the way it glowed against his dying, spiritual light… _Beautiful_ was the sole word he could think of, the only word available to describe the horrific scene, the bloodbath before him, and his own melting prison.

Tragically beautiful. He didn't mind the first half anymore. Nothing mattered to the dead boy as his eyes rolled back into hollow slumber and the marionettes they played were dismantled and reconstructed. Everything began anew.

_(In the end he had nothing to fear) _

* * *

**_That's it, the last drabble. Happy HitsuHina Week, 2013!_**


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